Page 26 of Miss Devon’s Choice

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Rebecca didn’t see Christian again until the guests gathered for dinner. She’d had the better part of the afternoon to think on his reaction to her declaration, and mentally formed several rebuttals. But the fact of the matter remained that since she did not understand his objection to the idea, she couldn’t truly plan a response until she spoke with him again.

Nor should she panic, even if she wished to, over his unsatisfying response to her plan.

She’d spent the afternoon embroidering handkerchiefs and making small talk, but her mind had been on her betrothed. She had a fortnight to fall in love, and apparently, he didn’t like the idea of her attempting such a thing.

Of course, she admitted reluctantly, it was a strange thing to tell a man. He likely thought her childish for expressing her strategy.

That didn’t mean she would give it up, though.

She had chosen to wear the least offensive of her evening gowns. Her aunt had called the color Russian flame when she spoke of commissioning the dress. Rebecca had been thrilled at the idea of wearing a daring color, perhaps a shade of red that would shimmer and set off her dark hair and eyes beautifully. But alas, Russian flame proved to be a pale, watered-down sort of beige. Whoever had named the color had absolutely no idea what they were doing.

“It is a modest choice for a young woman,” her aunt had said when Rebecca protested donning the horrid thing the first time. “You will wear it, or you will remain at home.”

Rebecca had taken to not looking down at herself in order to avoid offending her eyes with the dull color.

When I am married, she told herself, I will commission a gown of red and gold, out of a fabric that crackles when I walk, and then I will feel like I am wearing Russian fire.

Not a moment after Rebecca had that thought Christian entered the room. His eyes met hers almost immediately. He had that intense look to him again, which made her miss the softness of his expression in the music room. Her cheeks started to burn, but she refused to look away. Somehow, she must make him understand how serious she was about falling in love with him.

He gave his polite greetings to the Dunhill family. Besides herself and Aunt Jacqueline, they were the only ones who had already arrived to wait for dinner.

Aunt Jacqueline, who had been sitting quietly beside Rebecca on the settee, abruptly rose.

“Make a good impression,” she whispered, critically taking in Rebecca’s appearance. Then she walked toward the baroness, leaving Rebecca alone.

Christian did not approach her. He stayed near the door, addressing each person as they entered in low, short phrases, and the seat beside Rebecca remained empty.

Fighting down her disappointment, Rebecca turned her eyes to the portrait hanging above the mantel. It was a beautiful work, painted after Lucas and Virginia’s marriage. The two of them were in the garden, smiling out of the canvas, their affection for each other clear in every line of their posture.

I want that for myself. Rebecca straightened her posture, determination stiffening her spine. And if I can get it, I will.

After all the guests had gathered, the butler announced dinner. Christian appeared at Rebecca’s side as everyone fell into place in the procession to the dining room. Rebecca was at the end, and he with her.

“We will sit more informally tonight,” Virginia said as they entered the dining room. “Now that we are coming to know one another, I hope you will each choose dinner companions you will enjoy conversing with.”

Rebecca’s eyes went up at once to Christian’s. He had gone very still, had stopped approaching the table in fact. Was he horrified at the very idea of sitting down next to her?

He looked down at her, and she did not see disgust or reluctance. Instead, the look in his eyes reminded her of someone who was…lost?

“Will you sit with me, my lord?” she asked softly. Aunt Jacqueline would’ve been mortified at such a forward question, yet Rebecca knew she must ask. Something about the seating situation made him uncomfortable.

He relaxed, but only a little, and nodded. Others were still discussing where to sit and with whom, but Christian ignored everything else going on in the room and moved to pull a chair at the middle of the table out for her. She sat, and he took the chair beside her.

Did he wish to sit with her? Or had the whole idea of choosing his own dining partner left him unsettled? He was such a tall, imposing figure of a man. He bore a title and wealth. How could something so simple as sitting down at a table render him uncomfortable?

He could merely be uncomfortable with your company, you ninny. Rebecca sighed at the thought and lifted her cup to her mouth.

Christian cut a look at her. Had he heard her?

They had promised to be honest with each other. Dare she ask about his hesitancy?

No, they weren’t exactly in a private setting.

“We must discuss tomorrow’s festivities,” Virginia announced from her place at the end of the table. “I trust everyone has had ample time to refresh themselves from the journey here.”

Murmurs of agreement and gratitude arose from the guests. Rebecca folded her hands in her lap, her attention happily diverted to whatever Virginia wished to say.